


look upon the sun

by grimmoires



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (as in they're 11 nothing's happening for a while), (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Grey Harry, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, More tags to be added, Powerful Harry, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Slow Burn, Young Tom Riddle, tom riddle in harry's generation fic, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmoires/pseuds/grimmoires
Summary: look upon the sun as you would look upon death, for life would not exist without either, and they are so beautiful and yet so blinding.Hadrian James Potter is light personified. Born as the summer's last rays spill onto Britain, it's as if he steals the sun for himself, shining with unnatural brilliance and strength, the picture perfect Heir to one of the most powerful Light Lordships in magical Britain.But Hadrian keeps secrets — and Tom Marvolo Riddle will pry apart the sun itself it means getting the answers.or: in a world still recovering from the dark lord gellert grindewald, a world where the distinction between dark and light is drawn in blood, hadrian potter and tom riddle rise like phoenixes from the ash.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 184





	1. i. the sun

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i'm grim! this is my first fanfic so any advice and encouragement is always welcome <3 i've been wanting to make a same generation hp/tr fic for a while; in this universe, the distinction between dark and light magics is much more prominent, and britain is still in recovery from grindelwald's war from over half a century ago. i'm doing my best to make any potential inconsistencies the purposeful kind but do let me know if you find plot holes!

"The incantation for the transfiguration of an object into a matchbox?"

" _Flintifors_ , with the wand held to the left."

"Very good, and the positioning of the wand has what effect?"

"It represents passivity and stability, holding the matchbox's stasis."

"Excellent! And which materials would be the best starting—"

A groan cut the wizard off from his questioning, and Warren Whitfield turned from his chalkboard to raise an eyebrow at the young boy under his tutelage. Bright green eyes met him evenly, widened ever so slightly in a pleading expression that Whitfield could not help but soften under. _Three years with this brat, you would think I'd get used to all his conniving_ , he fretted, pushing his spectacles back up his nose as he peers down on the young Heir.

"Professor Whitfield, I've already covered these questions in last week's essay, _please_ can't we cut class a little shorter today?"

The man gave a heavy sigh that would have sounded exasperated to anyone else, but the young wizard saw the fond smile sneak onto his tutor's face and grinned in victory.

"Very well, young Hadrian, since it's a special day for you. But two feet on _fors_ suffix spells, I think, for next week's lesson, and do try to improve your citations from last week," he chastised, starting to clean up the sprawl of Transfiguration textbooks and notebooks he had brought for today's lesson.

The boy — Hadrian — winced at the slightly longer assignment, but at just shy of 11 years of age, he hadn't yet mastered the art of delayed gratification. And even if he had, well, his tutor was right — it _was_ a special day. Why he had classes at all was beyond him — probably his mother's influence, because his father seemed even more excited than he himself.

Waving Whitfield a quick goodbye, Hadrian gathered his notebooks and quills before rushing out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom despite knowing it would earn him a good lecture from his mother if she saw him behaving in such an _undignified manner_. Regardless, he took the risk of taking the stairs two at a time down as well, knowing that in the early afternoons of the summer, both his parents were probably...

_Aha_.

"Mom, dad!"

Two heads turned from where a witch and wizard sat in the backyard, cuddled next to each other underneath a tree on a picnic blanket.

Lily Potter was the first to untangle herself from her husband, amusement coloring her eyes as she opened her arms for her son to worm himself into. Casting a wordless _tempus_ , she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Hadrian. It's not 2 yet, is it? Did you convince Professor Whitfield to let you out early?" she questioned, though her tone indicated that she already knew the answer. Beside her, James Potter let out a boisterous laugh, ruffling his son's hair.

"Come now, Hadrian, it's not good to be skipping lessons," he scolded, though his voice held more amusement than any genuine berating should carry.

The young wizard huffed, wiggling away from his father's hand and attempting to smooth down the strands for a few seconds before quickly giving up. He kept himself _neat_ and _well groomed_ , thank you very much, as befitting a young Lord of his status. Merlin knew how his father managed to undo all that hard work in mere seconds.

"I don't skip lessons that often. Not like _you_ did, dad," Hadrian scoffed, tipping his nose righteously into the air as his father laughed again in response.

"Very well, I suppose you have a point there — _ow_ , Lily, alright, no skipping class here, I'm a perfectly good role model, thank you," the elder Potter said, wincing as he rubbed his side where his wife had just jabbed at him with her wand.

"Never mind that, is it here?" Hadrian interrupted, having finally given up on skirting around the subject.

"What _ever_ could you mean, darling, you'll have to be more specific," James responded, mischief lighting his eyes again as his wife rolled her own. "I just have this, oh so unimportant paper," he started, drawing out an envelope with the familiar red seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, "addressed to one—" here, he pretended to peer closely at the letter "— Hadrian James Potter? Doesn't seem that important, perhaps I should toss it —"

Before he could get another word out, Hadrian was gasping, clambering over both his parents and grabbing the envelope for himself, much to their amusement.

Indeed, the letter was made out to one _Hadrian James Potter_ , resident of the _Potter Manor, Stinchcombe, Gloucestershire_. The seal was pried off gently with shivering fingers, revealing his acceptance to Hogwarts in green ink. Hadrian released a rather unbecoming squeal, barely skimming it before looking back up to meet his parents' fond gazes.

"I got in! I'm going to Hogwarts!"

Lily Potter laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to her only son's forehead.

"Of course you did, sweetie," she said, sitting back up only to grab Hadrian in another hug that James quickly joined.

"Another little lion in the family," he said affectionately, enclosing his family in a warm embrace.

Snug in his parents’ arms and glowing with their pride, Hadrian felt like he could summon a hundred Patronuses with that moment alone.

— // —

Diagon Alley was, of course, not unfamiliar to Hadrian, though this particular nook of it wasn't one he had ever entered before.

_Madame Malkin's_ was scrawled in elegant pewter script against mahogany wood, a strip of parchment beneath the sign proudly proclaiming the store as the "Official Supplier of Hogwart's Robes." Hadrian himself had never stepped foot in Malkin's — the Potter's preferred Twilfitt and Tatting's, which supplied more traditionalist outfits of high quality (and high price, Hadrian supposed), and he had only gone a few times to be measured, his clothing then delivered back to the manor. But school robes from Malkin's — that, his father had declared, was an official Hogwarts rite of passage, and so Hadrian walked in with more excitement than he would usually grant robe shopping.

"Hogwarts, dear?" chimed the friendly voice of a stout witch currently surrounded by swatches of fabric. Other than the billowing of cloth and the soft undertones of a self-playing harp in the corner, there was no other sound, the shop seemingly empty — the lull before an afternoon wave, Hadrian was sure. "Have a seat, have a seat, I'll fit you both up right away."

Hadrian strode forward without hesitation, only processing the witch's words once he had drawn himself up next to another boy around his age, currently being assaulted by a magical measuring tape that switched its attentions to Hadrian as he came to a stop.

The two were polar opposites, he soon realized, the boy's slicked back, white-gold hair standing in stark juxtaposition to his own artfully messy fluff of black. A halfblood or a pureblood, it seemed, as he was also wearing casual day robes, and either a heir or a pompous brat (or both, Hadrian mused) judging from his posture. Pairing that with his hair...

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," the boy introduced, jaunting his chin up in a decidedly self-important manner before dipping his head in the casual manner reserved for a minor meeting a peer.

For a brief second, his eyes darted sideways to where he had left his parents, but they were outside — father had said going through Malkin's scrutiny and the chaos of her measuring tapes alone was _also_ part of the rite of passage, he remembered — and he relaxed, nodding in return.

"A pleasure, Heir Malfoy. Hadrian Potter," he returned, and it was Malfoy's turn to dart his attention briefly to the entrance. Upon finding them alone in the shop, Malkin herself seemingly buried underneath the silks at this point, the blonde offered a tentative smile.

"The pleasure's all mine, Heir Potter," and then, "Are you excited for Hogwarts?"

Malfoy's pompous attitude leaked back into his words as he relaxed more, but Hadrian found that he didn’t mind too much, finding it more amusing than anything as the two boys fell into an easy, if not slightly jilted at first, rhythm of conversation. Both had heard of the other, of course — the Malfoy's were an old family and notably Dark-aligned, but still extremely powerful and wealthy even _if_ they had ended up on the losing side of the war last time, while the Potter's had quickly ascended the political food chain as one of the most successful Light families, that recent notoriety coming partially for their role in fighting off Grindelwald. Draco knew that they ran in different circles — such different circles, in fact, that Potter should have probably turned away coldly upon realizing who he was, not initiate friendly conversation.

Before the blonde could think too deeply into it, however, Malkin was back again, one bright yellow tassel trying to attach itself to her hair as if it had separation anxiety. She brushed it away half-mindedly, knocking it back three shelves, and pushed two bundles of black cloth into the arms of the pair.

"Your three sets of plain school robes, one plain pointed hat, one winter cloak, and dragonhide gloves. The standard expenses have been billed to your families, of course, Heir Malfoy, Heir Potter. Enjoy Hogwarts, boys!" the cheerful witch chirped before flitting away once again.

Hadrian allowed himself a bemused smile before wincing slightly as he realized that Malkin definitely knew who they were and probably knew that they really shouldn't be talking, but she didn't seem particularly bothered by the fact so Hadrian wouldn't think on it too much either.

He walked outside, Malfoy on his heels, smiling eagerly at where his parents were conversing on a bench in the shade. James noticed him first, grinning back. "Look at you, got your shopping all done by yourself," he teased lightly, reaching out to ruffle his son's hair before spotting the second boy behind him and freezing.

"And who's this, Hadrian?" Lily Potter spoke up, though judging by how her usually open expression had frosted over, she had her suspicions.

Hadrian winced under the scrutiny, swallowing before trying to introduce Malfoy, but was miraculously saved as two well-dressed blonde wizards approached them. Then again, judging by how the mood had tensed even more, perhaps it wasn't quite a relief.

"Lord Potter, Lady Potter — I see you've made acquaintance with my son, Draco," Lord Malfoy drawled, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Narcissa Malfoy stood slightly behind him, expression hooded and unrevealing as she cast a cool, assessing glance over the other family.

"Quite," Hadrian's father returned evenly as he drew his own son closer. "It seems the boys met in Malkins."

"So it seems," Lucius Malfoy said, a disdainful sniff following the words before tense silence fell upon the two families once more.

"Well. Draco, we must be getting home, I'm sure you'll have more than enough time to chat with your... _friend_ once you're at Hogwarts," Lucius finally said, once it became clear that neither of the Potter's were going to say or do anything else.

Draco acquiesced quietly, shooting a briefly apologetic look towards Hadrian that was returned before turning to follow his parents. The trio disappeared in a pop, disapparating from the street, and James and Lily turned their attention to their son.

"Are you alright? You know how dangerous it is to be with _their_ kind," Lily was already chiding. "He didn't try anything, did he?"

Already, Hadrian felt the familiar sense of shame mingling with anger at his parents' words. He hated disappointing them in anything, and in this most of all, because it should be simple. Don't trust Dark wizards. Don't interact with them. Don't let them interact with you. The lectures had been increasing in frequency in the couple days since he had received his Hogwarts letter — of course Hadrian would be Sorted into Gryffindor, where no Dark wizards had managed to step foot in for years, as his parents had been, and his fathers' parents and their parents and the whole Potter line had been. But it was inevitable that he would meet Dark wizards — and of course, he was an Heir, he would not stoop so low as to _bully_ or _persecute_ them, but his parents had impressed on him that he must be ready to defend himself from them at any moment.

The fissure between Dark and Light mages hadn't always been there. Magic was meant to be united, to be balanced. But ever since the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald had tried taking over the world using black magic and threatening to reveal the wizarding world to the Muggles, only to be stopped by the equally powerful Light wizard Albus Dumbledore (the Hogwarts headmaster, and, Hadrian was proud to say, a close friend of their family), things had changed.

Even over half a century after the War, Dark wizards were viewed with mistrust. The old families had enough wealth and power to keep their stations and avoid arrest, but even they were under heavy scrutiny, their actions eyed with suspicion by the general public. In the years closely following the war, they had been subjected to impromptu raids that seized old heirlooms, moneys, and property. Young Dark wizards without such connections frequently had to seek patronage from Light families, or suffer through long years of clawing up the ranks, constantly having to prove themselves and unable to make one misstep. It was only through Headmaster Dumbledore's compassion and goodwill that Dark wizards were still allowed at Hogwarts, where the curriculum had shifted to help protect students against the Dark Arts.

Sometimes, Hadrian found it unfair — it was a shame that a birthright (for Dark and Light alliance was determined only by a child's magical core at birth, and could sometimes, rarely, stray from that of the child's family) could hold such heavy sway over one's life, but his parents were right — the Dark was dangerous, and he ought to be more careful, no matter how much he wanted to make a new friend.

And so Hadrian bowed his head, the disappointment of his parents serving a heavy punishment for his lapse in judgment.

"I'm sorry, mom. I didn't say anything to him, I promise, and I'll be more careful from now on," he said.

A sigh, and then he was wrapped in a hug.

"It's alright, darling. We just worry, you know? Considering who you are... Just be more careful," his mother said, squeezing him tightly before releasing him.

"Well," she said, aiming for normalcy. "Let's move on, shall we? I think Flourish and Botts, next."

— // —

His parents didn't let him out of sight during their trip to the bookstore, but Hadrian quickly pushed down any feelings of annoyance. It had been his own fault, after all, and he was enjoying the shopping trip with his parents at any rate. They let him try to find all the books, simply following him around with a look of fond amusement on their faces, and tell the cashier (who looks very much in awe of the picturesque Light family) to charge their Gringott's account for the purchases.

They briefly stop at a wizarding equipment shop to get his potions equipment and telescope, and though the latter is added to the growing pile of school supplies and shrunk to fit inside his bag, his mother tsk's at the quality of the cauldrons and finally leads them out with a promise to get Hadrian's potions kit from a specialty shop instead.

Their second-to-last stop is Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shop is small and rather dark, likely to facilitate the comfort of the owls they house. His parents follow him as he walks by each owl, wide-eyed like the animals themselves and reaching out with his magic, waiting and hoping for the wonderful feeling of meeting a familiar that just _clicks_ with him magically. He's drawn to a large, darkly-colored great-horned owl that stares at him serenely before his father stops him with a hand on his shoulder, pointing his attention to a snowy owl that positively _glows_ in the darkness of the shop.

Hadrian draws in a breath as he turns, slowly reaching up to stroke the owl's chest with his forefinger.

"Beautiful," he whispers.

Her name is Hedwig and she's _his_ , their magic dancing together beautifully as she accepts a perch on his shoulder. His parents pay while he's busy cooing and greeting his new friend, feeding her a treat. He gives her an empty parchment with the address to the manor — like any other magical owl, she's able to find wizarding addresses with ease, and he doubts she would want to suffer through the last leg of their shopping trip in the bright summer day.

And with his companion chosen, their last stop is the one Hadrian is most excited and most nervous for.

Ollivanders proudly announces itself as _Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ , even as it seems to squat underneath the weight of the two residential stories above the storefront. The interior is old-fashioned and slightly dusty, with shelves upon shelves of wands lining the sides, arcing ominously in as if about to fall over at any second.

Hadrian, who has never been claustrophobic in his life, feels slightly queasy.

Perhaps it's because of the wands. Even unclaimed, they tingle with potential, tendrils reaching out as if their master will walk in at any minute. It's the feeling one would get if they were being stalked by a large predator, Hadrian thinks, and he's distinctly discomfited before he even meets Garrick Ollivander.

The elderly man's eyes seem almost like liquid silver as they pass over the Potter family, nodding slightly to acknowledge the Lord and Lady before beckoning to Hadrian.

"Mr. Potter, I have been expecting you. Come, come, I was just getting started with Mr. Riddle here, I'll get you both set up at the same time," Ollivander says in a croaking voice.

Hadrian sneaks a glance back to his parents before taking a deep breath and walking over, taking in the other boy as he did so. Riddle, the man had said. He's wearing Muggle clothes that don't seem to be in such great condition. A Muggleborn, then, and Hadrian relaxes slightly because Muggleborns are almost always Light, even if the boy didn't know it yet.

"Your wand arm?" Ollivander prompts, and Hadrian stretches his right arm out easily before sneaking another glance at the Muggleborn.

"Hadrian Potter," he introduces, and when _Mr. Riddle_ finally turns to him, it's like staring into his twin. Not so much physically, because while both boys have dark hair and dark eyes, the Muggleborn's ragtag clothes and a face gaunt from starvation rather than the careful breeding of magical lines distinguish them well enough. No, not physically, but his _eyes_ hold just as much assessment and sharpness, judging Hadrian just as much as he had judged him. And beneath them, just a tinge of darkness, of danger, of thirst and ambition that's almost challenging before it gives way to a placid, welcoming expression.

"Tom Riddle," he returns, after Ollivander has finished measuring their arms and has bustled into the backroom.

"It's a pleasure, Riddle. You're Muggleborn?"

A pause.

"Yes."

"I don't judge, don't worry. Must've been quite a shock, huh?"

"Not really. More like...the puzzle pieces clicked. A lot of unexplainable things happened in my childhood."

Hadrian feels his interest pique at that, because while many Muggleborn children displayed bursts of accidental magic, for it to happen often enough that they could start piecing together their inheritance...that was the mark of a powerful wizard indeed. Well, either that or Riddle was trying to play cool.

"Really? My mother is Muggleborn. She never really put it together until her friend told her — he's a halfblood, you see — and even then, she didn't really believe it until the letter came."

Before Tom could respond to that, Ollivander was back, holding two boxes in his hands.

"For Mr. Riddle, 11 inch poplar, dragon heartstring, and Mr. Potter, 11 and three quarters hazel, unicorn hair," he presents.

Hadrian reaches for the honey brown wand, but before he gets the chance to pick it up, white sparks shower from where Riddle had just brushed a finger against the poplar wood. Riddle had jolted back, wide-eyed, and Hadrian can't help but mirror the expression. Wands could be volatile, but that had certainly been a violent reaction.

Ollivander seems to agree, quickly withdrawing the wand and frowning at Riddle. "Well, _you_ certainly won't be Light," he mutters underneath his breath, and Hadrian stiffens, though Riddle seems not to hear.

"Mr. Potter, your wand," the wandmaker draws his attention back to where the hazel wood lay untouched.

Jolting himself out of his reverie, he takes the wand hesitantly (it doesn't reject him at first touch, which is promising) and gives it a swish. A gust of air flows through the room, knocking a book off the table and a cloud of dust into his face. Ollivander is grabbing the wand out of his hand before he finishes sneezing, turning and muttering underneath his breath as he goes to find more wands for the pair. They wait in silence for a few seconds, then —

"What did he mean, that I won't be Light?"

Ah, so he had heard after all. Hadrian cast a look behind him nervously; he doesn't want to make the same mistake twice, but his parents are busy in conversation and, well, there's a difference between making small talk with a Dark Heir and simply educating a potentially-Dark (though Hadrian doubts Ollivander is wrong — the wandmaker rarely is) Muggleborn.

"Every witch and wizard is born with a Light or Dark core. It effects how well you perform certain magics, and how certain magics interact with you. The wood, for example — I think poplar is quite picky, and works best with Light wizards," he explains.

Tom cocks his head, apparently thinking over the fact.

"What are you, then?"

"Light," the information rolls easily off his tongue. "My whole family's Light, has been for generations on my father's side — er, it's quite possible for a Light family to have a Dark wizard and vice versa, just a bit rare, no one really knows how one's core is decided," he adds. "Most Muggleborns, in the past few decades at least, have ended up Light," and he can't help the slight disappointment in his voice, because Riddle seems interesting and powerful and it's not _fair_ that he has a second potential friend torn away just like that.

And Riddle's observative, too, eyes narrowing as he clearly picks up Hadrian's tone, because he asks, his own voice stilted and defensive, "Is there something wrong with being Dark?"

Hadrian quickly backtracks because yes, it's a bit difficult for Dark wizards, and yes, his parents would rather him stay away from them, but he won't feed into the feud and the discrimination and he hopes he hasn't just ruined Riddle's opinion of him and Light wizards, drawing lines even deeper in the ground between them.

"No! Well. There was a war, at the beginning of the century," he says uncomfortably. "A Dark Lord tried to take over the world, and almost exposed the wizarding world to the Muggles in the process. Ever since then, there's been a general...mistrust of Dark magic. And I guess it's carried over to Dark wizards in general. My parents are...pretty overprotective in that regard," he winces, eyes darting away again — his parents are still wrapped up in their own little world, phew — briefly.

Riddle is still frowning. "But...what's the difference? Between the magic. Is one stronger, or something?"

Before Hadrian can answer, Ollivander is back with two more wands. He doesn't narrate, this time, but Hadrian's pretty sure that his is redwood, and Riddle's is beech.

Riddle manages to pick up his wand without it throwing a fit this time, and the two wave their hands in synchrony. Riddle's wand spits out some lavender smoke that looks pretty but doesn't do much, and it quickly fades, leaving an ashy scent behind. Hadrian's sends a stack of papers into the air violently, and he winces before Ollivander flicks his own wand to rectify the damage. He's eyeing Hadrian suspiciously now, though, and he shifts slightly in discomfort before the wandmaker whisks away into the backroom once again.

"There's no difference," he says, picking up the conversation from where they left off. "In strength, that is. But Dark magic tends to be more...dangerous. More demanding, and very addictive. The very darkest of it requires human sacrifice, and can splinter souls." Hadrian shivers at the very thought. "It also tends to cause the most destruction. But that's in the most extreme case. Most magic is rather...grey, to be honest, and there are Light spells that can cause just as much chaos," he admits.

Riddle looks thoughtful.

"So it's just...lingering fear, mostly, from the war," he says with a frown, and Hadrian nods in agreement.

"That's what I think. Well, I guess it's justified in some part, because Dark magic really can do some awful things," he says, then winces as Riddle's expression sours. "But yeah, a lot of it has to do with politics."

Somehow, Riddle perks up at the mention of politics, and he asks after the structure of the wizarding government with an interest Hadrian thinks is completely psycho for an 11-year-old. Even so, Hadrian fields the questions easily — as an Heir, he's destined for a life in politics, and fortunately for him he's rather interested in the topic, even if he's nowhere as enthralled as Riddle — launching into a description of the Ministry of Magic.

Ollivander returns six more times with unsuccessful wands, and Hadrian's mother wanders over looking slightly concerned, though the wandmaker waves her off. "Just two difficult customers, it seems," he says, and Hadrian introduces Riddle as a Muggleborn from London due to start Hogwarts with him before she relaxes and returns to his dad.

Sometime between their discussion of the position of the Sacred 28 in the Wizengamot and Hadrian's summarizing of a new bill passed that registers the use of aconite, "Riddle" becomes "Tom." Their conversation is easy yet thought-provoking, and Hadrian finds his fascination in this Muggleborn wizard growing.

Ollivander returns in the middle of Tom asking Hadrian after the alignment of each of the Sacred 28 with a strange look in his eyes that has both boys falling silent. The two wands he holds look vastly different, one a long, deathly white thing while the other is dark and polished, shorter but still elegant. Looks aside, though, Hadrian can already tell that the wands _feel_ very similar. Magically, it's as if they were siblings — perhaps not twins, but brothers. Ollivander offers him the darker one, but he gets the feeling that he could just as easily pick up the other.

"I wonder..." the old man mutters as he offers the pair the wands, but doesn't bother enlightening his thoughts upon the two children, and Hadrian and Tom exchange a wary look before picking them up and giving the perfunctory swish.

Hadrian can already tell there's something different about this wand, because the second his hand makes contact, the wood is singing with a song that resonates so deeply within him it's as if he's discovered a whole new body part. With a small gesture, both wands are releasing golden light, a gorgeous performance of song and dance that flits about the room before returning to their new masters. Tom looks more uncomposed than he had been during their entire conversation, eyes glazed with wonder, finally looking his young 11 years of age. Hadrian is beaming and for once, can't find it within him to take issue with how _childlike_ he must seem in that moment.

His parents have come up behind him, expressions just as bright and happy as he feels, congratulating him on finding his wand at last.

Ollivander, however — Ollivander looks upon the two with an expression that is almost grave but mostly inquisitive.

"Curious, very curious... Mr. Riddle, Mr. Potter, the two wands you hold are quite special indeed. I remember every wand I make, and those two wands...they seemed destined to be made. Never have I had an easier time getting the wood to accept the core, they fit together as if they were meant to be... Mr. Riddle — 13 and a half inch yew with phoenix feather core. Mr. Potter — 11 inch holly with phoenix feather core. And the core...

"I procured the cores of both wands from the same phoenix, a most unusual event, but he seemed eager that I should take two of his feathers, no more, no less. It seems you both have a great destiny ahead of you, entwined with each other, or perhaps parallel."

Ollivander's voice faded off to muttering as he turned and returned behind the counter, picking up a book and writing in it. Hadrian gaped in stunned silence, but before he could muster up a proper question, Ollivander was shutting the book and looking back up, expression cleared of the dark look he had been giving the two boys as if nothing had happened.

"Well. Seven galleons for each wand, then. Enjoy Hogwarts, boys, enjoy Hogwarts indeed..."

—//—

Hadrian went to sleep that night thinking about a gaunt, dark-haired Muggleborn with eyes that seemed to pierce his soul.


	2. ii. under

Hadrian has an inkling of suspicion that there's some sort of cheating going on in the card game in front of him, but if Ron hadn't caught on by now, well, that was his own problem. Hadrian himself had had an unlucky draw that knocked him out a couple rounds earlier, and was reclining in his chair, lazily observing the last legs of the game. Ron Weasley was...well, looking slightly constipated in his focus, but considering his opponent, Hadrian thought it was forgivable.

Sadie Fenwick was perched on the chair across from Ron with a smug smile, Susan Bones peering over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. The last member of their group, Neville Longbottom, had long since given up on the game and was on the other side of the room trying to get a reaction out of the Potter family's flitterbloom.

Hadrian had been friends with Neville almost from birth — the two had been born a day apart, and their parents ran in the same political circles, so it was almost a given that the two would become fast friends. They had also known Sadie from a young age for similar reasons; the Fenwicks, like the Potters, were an old family that came into prominence for their war efforts. Susan had joined their friend group soon after, her aunt an acquaintance of Neville's parents. Ron was the latest addition; while his parents weren't particularly politically inclined, they had befriended Hadrian's parents at some point over the last couple of years, and so Ron had become the fifth participant of their little weekly...gatherings.

(Hadrian's mother still called it a _playdate_ when she wanted to tease him, but Hadrian staunchly refused the word — they were almost _teens_ , not little kids anymore.)

"You're cheating!"

"Prove it!"

The dark-haired heir snapped his attention back to the game, where Ron had apparently decided that he was losing too badly for Sadie to be employing entirely legal means. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like the red-haired boy had figured out exactly _how_ , because he was glaring mulishly at her without a word. Before Ron could snap and throw a full tantrum, though, Sadie giggled and dropped her cards, grabbing the deck from in-between them. As much as Sadie loved winning, she loved rubbing how she won in her friends' faces even more (Hadrian thought Sadie could be a pretty good teacher if she had any interest in doing so without bragging).

"Here — Marcus learned this from a Muggleborn last year," she said eagerly. Marcus was Sadie's older brother, a Ravenclaw about to enter his fifth year, if Harry remembered correctly. He had a propensity for mischief and manipulation, and Hadrian, when they first met, had been surprised he hadn't been sorted to Slytherin. Of course, that was before his parents had taught him that while the Slytherin house _used_ to value cleverness and cunning above all else, its wizards were now undeniably Dark and morally ambiguous at best. And while Marcus played pranks and was mischievous, Sadie's brother was as Light as one could be, and had always been kind to Hadrian the few times they met, not dissimilar to Ron's elder twin brothers, Fred and George.

Snapping back to the present, he refocused on Sadie, who was showing Ron and Susan how to "stack a deck." Hadrian watched her fingers move deftly to isolate a card and sweep it into her palm subtly, interest piqued. Even Neville, whose attention had been caught by Ron's outburst, had wandered back over and taken his seat next to Hadrian to watch again.

"You learn the most interesting things from Marcus," Susan commented idly. She didn't seem particularly vested in how the trick was done, but was watching closely anyways.

"Well, he has interesting housemates," Sadie said as she demonstrated dropping the card into her other hand at the bottom of the deck. "And then you do a table shuffle and let it drop in the order so it's dealt to you," she finished with a flourish, the rapid tat-a-tat of the deck not breaking as she slid the card into the right spot, sliding the completed deck back over to Ron.

"I wouldn't want to be in Ravenclaw, though," she continued smoothly while the red-haired boy gaped and tried to replicate her movements with a lot less grace. "Marcus's housemates are only interesting _sometimes_ , and from what I hear, they're in the library day in and day out. I couldn't stand it," Sadie scoffed.

"No, I don't think you'd survive a day without going outside and getting dirtied up somehow," Susan giggled, much to Sadie's annoyance.

" _Ugh_ , mother gets on my case so much about it too, says it's not proper for me to be playing outside so much. It's just dirt, I'm perfectly presentable when it _matters_."

"Yeah, I think you're going straight to Gryffindor," Susan giggled, turning the conversation back to their impending Sorting, as many of their conversations had over the last couple of weeks.

Sadie shrugged.

"Maybe. The rest of you would also do well in Gryffindor. We all know Hadrian's _destined_ for it," she said, grinning at the boy. Hadrian responded with a wry grin and a shrug.

"Mom and dad already got me red and gold winter accessories, if I don't get Sorted to Gryffindor I'm going to have to pretend I am one so all those galleons don't go to waste," he laughed easily. Then, deflecting the conversation, "If I'm destined for Gryffindor, so is Neville. I'm pretty sure the Longbottom's have just as much history there as us, if not more."

Hadrian always got a bit uncomfortable when Sorting was brought up. He knew he was supposed to be in Gryffindor; it's what his parents wanted him to be, had raised him to be. And he personally thought he was pretty brave and courageous, and he tried to personify what the Light valued — righteousness and honor. But sometimes, he had flashes of doubt — like when he manipulated his tutors into holding information from his parents with a carefully practiced expression, or when his darker impulses struck, like that time he saw a menagerie owner hit a cat and he viciously, _impulsively_ , "accidentally" nudged a full bottle of ink onto the quite important-looking documentation that he had to be dragged away from when the Potters had walked in. And as they left the shop, a faint curse of panic cut off by the door closing, Hadrian's only regret had been not being able to make the shop owner _suffer_ more for his actions.

At the time, Hadrian had justified it as his sense of justice — his father, who worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, often preached the concept of justice and ethics. But as the Sorting drew ever closer, that incident, and others like it, hounded at him.

He shook it off for now, not wanting to think too much about it with his friends here. There was no need for doubt — everyone saw him as the perfect example of a Light Heir, a Gryffindor by blood and mind. The Sorting would prove that these unfounded fears were just that — unfounded and unwanted.

"—Gryffindor, but I think I'd like Hufflepuff, too," Neville was finishing by the time Hadrian started listening again.

Susan was nodding along. "I know Hufflepuff gets some slack, but I think my family would throw a fit if I _wasn't_ sorted there," she giggled, but her tone was lighthearted. The Bones tended to throw Hufflepuffs, but Hadrian knew that her family would love her no matter where she was Sorted.

"Hufflepuff wouldn't be bad," Sadie said, considering, before huffing. "As long as it's not _Slytherin_."

A collective shiver ran through the group, silence falling over them for a second. There hadn't been a Light wizard in Slytherin since Grindelwald had been defeated,

"Well, maybe you should stop _cheating_ during _card games_ , then," Ron said weakly, but it worked. The mood lightened, and Sadie squawked in offense, opening her mouth to defend herself.

_That's right_ , Hadrian thought gravely to himself. _As long as it's not Slytherin_.

—//—

The month before he officially enrolled at Hogwarts moved both too quickly and too slowly for his tastes. His parents had gotten even more overbearing despite lightening his private studies, readying his tutors to be dismissed — there'd be no need for them while he was at Hogwarts, after all. His parents, however, were already preparing for something his godfather called "Empty Nest Syndrome."

"Cut them some slack, will ya?" Sirius Black had chuckled while ruffling his hair. "They're not ready for you to leave yet."

A pause.

"Honestly, I'm not either. I'll miss ya when you're gone, kid."

And then, more lightheartedly —

"Who will I prank?" he moaned, and Hadrian had laughed and promised himself that he'd be more understanding the next time his mom started fretting over his packing again.

Two weeks before Hadrian left, he had his last day of classes, finishing off the day with his magical theory tutor, Professor Warren Whitfield.

Whitfield was also his longest-lasting tutor, a good-natured, kind and understanding man that had started his magical education three years ago. Before him, he had had a series of nonmagical tutors — not in the sense that they themselves weren't magical, but in that the material he had learned hadn't been. Lily Potter had been a Muggleborn, after all, and she wanted her son to understand the world she had come from. So he had learned math, and the basics of French and Latin, and even been taken through some classical literature (that he had absolutely _despised_ ) and science (that he hadn't minded as much, and grudgingly admitted even helped with his Transfiguration theory later on).

Hadrian stood between his parents as they thanked Whitfield in their foyer.

"You've truly been a boon to Hadrian's education. I wish there had been a tutor like you in my youth, maybe I would've liked theory a bit more," James was saying with a smile.

"Oh, Hadrian has been an absolute pleasure to teach," Whitfield enthused, and Hadrian returned his smile. "Please do keep in touch while you're at Hogwarts, I'm sure we'll be seeing great things from you in the future."

The Potters escorted him to just outside the wards, and with a final round of "thank you"s and "goodbye"s issued, the man Apparated away, and Hadrian felt as if a chapter of his life had officially come to a close.

—//—

Hadrian spent his last week at home packing (or, more accurately, tossing items in his trunk and telling himself he'd organize them at some point) and spending time with his family, a strange sense of nostalgia overcoming him despite not even having left the manor yet.

He woke bright and early on September 1st — _too_ early, in fact. One of the house elves offered to prepare breakfast, clearly surprised he was awake at all, but he had refused, feeling nauseous, going to sit underneath the tree where his father had handed him his Hogwarts letter what seemed like forever ago.

Lily found him there a couple hours later as the sun cleared the horizon, coming to sit quietly next to her son.

"How are you feeling?" she murmured, wrapping an arm around him and hugging him to her side. Hadrian allowed the action, suddenly realizing that it would be the last chance he'd have to be so close to his mother for the next couple of months.

"I'm scared," he whispered back, finally admitting his own feelings. Lily rubbed at his shoulder, encouraging him to continue. "I know you and dad have really big expectations for me, and I just —" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I just want to make you proud," he trailed off.

"Oh darling," Lily turned, wrapping him in a tighter hug as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You've already made us proud, and no matter what happens at Hogwarts, we'll still be proud of you."

Hadrian turns his eyes up to meet his mother's, twin green orbs peering into each other.

"No matter what?" he repeats, as if reassuring himself. _Even if I don't get sorted into Gryffindor?_ is what he really wants to ask — but the words are stuck in his throat, and when he tries to force them out it feels like he's choking on them, unable to draw in another breath.

"No matter what," Lily reassures, and breaks eye contact to tuck her son's head underneath hers. "Trust in yourself. And you know we'll always be here for you."

— // —

James finds them half an hour later, and the rest of the morning passes in a flash of panicked packing and repacking (once Lily spots the mess Hadrian made of his trunk). Hedwig, his beautiful new familiar, is spared from the madness, released earlier that morning to find her own way to Hogwarts owlery, while James, Lily, and Hadrian Apparated to King's Cross Station.

They arrive early, a half hour before eleven o'clock, thanks to Lily's diligent planning and rushing. The platform is sparsely populated, and he can't spot any of his friends — only first-years really arrived early, so Sadie and Ron would probably come a little later with their siblings, though Susan and Neville would hopefully be there soon.

His earlier conversation with his mother, and the public space, help Hadrian comport himself properly. He gives each of his parents a hug, but doesn't cling, doesn't cry, only promises to write frequently. With a last _love you_ exchanged, his unasked question from earlier that morning still sticking in his throat, Hadrian turns and boards the train.

He grabs a compartment in one of the center cars right next to the entrance so he can easily flag down his friends. As he thought, Neville joins him first, and then Susan. The three exchange pleasantries and share how their last week at home went, and Susan is just sharing an excited tale of how her aunt had gifted her protective Charmed amulet when a toad comes flying out of Neville's pocket.

Susan squealed and threw herself across the compartment, startled, and Hadrian can't help himself as he wheezes in laughter while Neville gives a strangled yelp and jumps after the wayward amphibian. He's too late, though, and the dirty green creature squeezes under the compartment door and into the hall.

"I— can't believe— you brought _Trevor_ ," Hadrian says between fits of giggles, only laughing harder at Neville's dismayed look.

"I didn't _want to_ , I got a perfectly good owl, but Uncle Algie wanted me to bring him so badly and mom and dad didn't want to say no, oh Merlin he's going to get trampled," Neville cries. "I need to go look for him, you guys stay so Ron and Sadie know where we're sitting," he says before darting out.

"I'll help!" Hadrian volunteers, launching out of his seat too while Susan mutters " _boys_ " underneath her breath, clearly disgruntled at being left behind.

Neville's already in the compartment two doors down by the time Hadrian squeezes his way out, and heading deeper into the train car. Hadrian was pretty sure Trevor had hopped in the _other_ direction, so he quickly calls out to tell his friend he'll check the other side, before turning around and running straight into a wall of black.

He grunts and tips backwards, catching himself from an inelegant fall by grasping the wall and staggering back a few steps. The other boy hadn't been so lucky, slowly climbing up from the ground.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" he asked anxiously, reaching down to give the other boy a hand, only for recognition to flash across his eyes. "Tom! It's good to see you again," he said as the Muggleborn boy waved him off and climbed to his feet, an embarrassed flush across his cheeks. "I'm so sorry about that, I should've been watching where I was going," he apologized again.

Tom managed to blush even further, and Hadrian wonders why the boy was so flustered when he had been so calm and collected at Ollivander's. Tom starts muttering an assurance when Hadrian hears his name from behind him.

"Potter!" And oh, that's Malfoy. Hadrian has to wonder why the other heir was taking the risk of talking to him in public, though he supposes it's relatively safe for now — the compartments are almost all empty except for the one Hadrian had been occupying and wherever Neville was searching now.

"I wanted to apologize, for my parents, that —" Malfoy cuts himself off when he spots Tom Riddle, clearly rethinking just how sound his plan of talking to Hadrian in the middle of the train was.

"It's alright," Hadrian hastily reassures. "No hard feelings, and my parents didn't treat the situation with as much grace as they should have either," he continues, while Tom watches the interaction with searching eyes. His blush had disappeared, replaced by a scrutinizing glance between the two heirs.

Realizing he'd been quite caught up and he was supposed to be helping Neville, Hadrian quickly makes his excuses. "Riddle — Malfoy. Malfoy — Riddle. Er, sorry, but I'll have to excuse myself now, I'll see you two later," he says, ducking past Tom.

They released twin noises of objection, but Hadrian was already ducking into the next compartment, flushing. For some reason, the atmosphere had been uncomfortably _tense_ when the two had seen each other, and he was glad to be out of their scrutiny. He did appreciate Malfoy's apology, though — maybe the two could even continue to be friends throughout the year. What his parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and he was capable of taking care of himself. And he was looking forward to interacting with Tom more, even if he had been acting oddly today.

By the time Hadrian emerged from the compartment three doors down with Trevor firmly clasped in his hands, some of the older years had started boarding the train and Tom and Malfoy were nowhere to be seen. Neville was still anxiously pacing the hall, though, and Hadrian quickly called to grab his attention.

"Neville! I got him."

The other boy almost deflated with relief, jogging back to Hadrian and reentering their original compartment. Harry nudged Sadie and Ron over while Neville slid in next to Susan, the first-years taking advantage of their size to fit all five of them.

" _Why_ in the world would you bring Trevor? Didn't you say your parents got you an owl?" Sadie huffed, glaring at the toad as if she had been personally offended. Neville grumbled, repeating his explanation about his Uncle Algie while bringing out a carrier to put the toad back in. Hadrian, personally, thought Neville's uncle had a screw loose (apparently the man had almost dropped Neville out a window, once, before Neville's parents spotted him and banned him from interacting with their son alone for the next five years).

"Okay, whatever. Susan said she had _big_ news," Sadie said, clearly moving on. The four turned towards the brunette expectantly. The Bones heiress glanced towards the door, as if ensuring no one was listening, which of course only raised their curiosity.

"Alright, I didn't manage to hear all of it, Auntie Amelia we just telling my parents and they thought I was asleep, but —" Here, Susan took a deep breath. "They caught someone trying to break into Nurmengard."

The hushed proclamation was met by three gasps and one confused look.

"What's that?" Ron asked petulantly, and Sadie gave him a dirty glare.

"Nurmengard? As in _Nurmengard Castle_? As in, where _Grindelwald_ is imprisoned?" she said emphatically. At that, Ron's eyes widened.

"Then, you mean, do you think someone was trying to free him?" he gaped.

"Or kill him," Hadrian pointed out. "There's still a lot of wizards out there that think prison is too soft a sentence for him." His own parents weren't part of that crowd, but a lot of the older generation, the ones that had felt the Dark Wizard's impact more closely, were.

"Maybe," Susan responded. "Apparently, the man who broke in disappeared while in holding. And that's not all. The same day the break-in happened, Grindelwald fell into a coma — they tried waking him up, but he didn't respond," she said grimly.

"Merlin," Sadie muttered underneath her breath, and Hadrian couldn't help but echo the sentiment. These attempts at sneaking into Nurmengard, whether for revenge or rescue, had been more prevalent decades ago, when the Dark Lord was still fresh on everyone's minds, but much of the next generation wanted to move past the travesties of the war. As far as they were concerned, life imprisonment without connection to magic was a punishment equal to death. Hadrian couldn't help but agree — he didn't understand how Muggles could survive without magic, or how they carried on with their lives without feeling a sense of loss, like a phantom limb, except they never knew they lost it.

The plot was concerning, especially considering the lack of closure, with the criminal disappearing and Grindelwald unresponsive. The man wasn't exactly old by wizarding standards, particularly for one as powerful as he — Dumbledore was still one of the most powerful wizards alive, and Grindelwald had matched him in strength and potential. Not to mention the _timing_. No, Hadrian doubted that the coma was natural.

They spent the rest of the ride to Hogwarts contemplating the situation, guesses getting more and more wild until Neville slyly proposed that Grindelwald was actually a house elf that wanted to clean the prison and, upon finishing his task, had Apparated away, causing the group to fall into uncontrollable laughter.

— // —

By the time they had calmed themselves down, it was time to change into their school robes and prepare to disembark. Nervous energy was once more thrumming through Hadrian as they exited the train, the sun beginning to set above them. A portly man that Hadrian vaguely recognized as Hagrid, the Hogwarts gameskeeper, was shouting for the first years, corralling them away from the other students.

Excitement and nervous energy coursed through him once more. On one hand, he was about to finally witness the beauty of Hogwarts Castle first hand. His parents had lauded it as the most beautiful sight they had ever seen, claiming that pictures didn't do it justice. On the other hand, he still had the Sorting to go through, his unasked question from earlier still stuck in his throat, even as he refused to contemplate the thought of not being in Gryffindor.

_One step at a time_ , he quickly reassured himself as they approached the boats. It seemed that they could only hold four students (Hagrid, himself, was occupying an entire one, Hadrian noted). Upon seeing a flash of white-blonde hair against the sea of black robes, Hadrian excused himself from his friends, reassuring them that he'd find a different boat.

"Malfoy, Tom," he greeted, pleasantly surprised that the two had apparently stayed together after he had left. The Malfoy's were rather close-minded about their ideas of blood purity, he had thought, though Malfoy was already rapidly proving himself to be quite different from his parents.

"Potter," Malfoy greeted, at the same time Tom's expression morphed into something that could almost be considered a smile. "Hadrian," the Muggleborn said softly.

The pureblood glanced to him with a look of surprise, but didn't enquire how the two had come to first-name basis already. Maybe he thought Tom lacked the manners to adhere to wizard norms, though Hadrian doubted the Muggleborn had called Malfoy _Draco_.

"Mind if I share with you two?" he asked politely.

The two quickly agreed, and another girl that he vaguely recognized as the Parkinson heir joined them, rudely pushing aside another boy that had been approaching them who eyed her with disdain. She seemed far less willing to ignore their familial tensions than Malfoy, staunchly ignoring Hadrian and even wrinkling her nose at Tom upon realizing he was Muggleborn.

Malfoy managed to send him an apologetic glance before Pansy (according to Malfoy — the girl hadn't even deigned to introduce herself by first name to them) hogged his attention for the rest of the boat ride. Instead, Hadrian turned his attention to Tom, glad he would get to share the wonder and amazement of Hogwarts with someone who was so new to their world.

As they drifted along Black Lake, the boats seemingly self-propelled, they fell in easy conversation once again. As he had last time, Tom skirted around matters of his family, but paid due interest to Hadrian's own description of his last couple of weeks of summer, until —

"Look!" Hadrian gasped, stopping midway through asking Tom if he had started reading the required texts yet.

They had passed into a tunnel a while ago, only the lantern lights reflecting ghostly glimmers along the stone walls and across their faces. But now, they emerged from a curtain of ivy, and ahead of them loomed a castle that could only be Hogwarts.

Shrouded in mist and a dark atmosphere as it was, it would almost appear haunted to the naked eye, but as they came closer, Hadrian spotted floating lanterns and candles around the exterior, gorgeous glass windows glowing softly, clearly lit from within, and he could really only describe the castle with a sense of _home_.

"It's beautiful," Tom said. Even as collected and calm as the Muggleborn had been while navigating the new world, his expression was clearly one of awe and wonder. Even Parkinson's expression had softened, though she continued hanging off Malfoy's arm.

The rest of the journey was short, passing in comfortable silence as they washed up onto the shore. Hadrian struggled up and out of the boat on shaky legs, Tom grabbing his shoulders from behind to stabilize him when he almost capsized the boat. He sent a sheepish smile back to the other boy that was met with a small smirk, and extended his own hand to help Tom out in return.

They filed into the castle, Hagrid waving them a merry goodbye and telling them to wait on the stairs.

"Hadrian!"

He spun around, noting that Malfoy had been dragged away by Parkinson, though Tom had stayed beside him.

"Sadie," he greeted with a grin. "How was the ride?"

"Fine," she shrugged in return, the other three of their friend group coming up behind her as she sent a pointed glance towards Tom.

Getting the hint, Hadrian gestured towards his new friend.

"This is Tom Riddle. Tom, this is Sadie Fenwick, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, and Ron Weasley," he introduced, gesturing to each of them in turn. They all offered friendly smiles and greetings, and Tom responded kindly enough, though he couldn't particularly be called enthusiastic about it. He was probably just uncomfortable meeting new people — he hadn't been particularly open with Hadrian until after they talked a while, he decided.

Before they could talk much, though, a loud clap sounded at the top of the stairs, and Hadrian glanced up and smiled when he saw Professor McGonagall. The witch had been his parents' Transfiguration professor when they attended Hogwarts, and they had had nothing but praise to laud upon her. Hadrian had met her a few times, and rather liked her no-nonsense but still kind attitude. McGonagall was professional as she quickly arranged the first-years in lines, sending Hadrian and Neville a small smile as she passed them.

"Alright, two orderly lines, everyone. Now come with me, it's time for the Sorting," the woman said briskly, and without another backwards glance, she was pushing open the doors to the Great Hall and leading them in.

His parents hadn't been exaggerating Hogwarts' beauty, Hadrian quickly realized as Tom fell in step beside him, tipping his head back to eagerly drink in the castle's enchanted ceiling, reflecting the depths of the night sky outside. Tom mirrored the action, but tilted his head down rather quickly, glancing around himself anxiously.

The other years were already sitting at their Houses' tables, and though most were a blur of unrecognizable faces, Hadrian saw the distinctive cluster of red hair at the Gryffindor table indicating the collection of Weasley's, and Marcus Fenwick at the Ravenclaw table, waving merrily at his younger sister (Sadie was scowling and pretending she saw nothing of the sort, clearly embarrassed).

The walk to the front of the Hall was over too quickly, and Hadrian wrestled his attention from their surroundings as McGonagall stopped and turned to face them with a stern expression.

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly," she announced. "Before that happens, though, you will be Sorted into your respective houses. Your houses will be like your family for your next seven years here, and your actions will reflect on your house.

"The four houses are Gryffindor, the house of courage and bravery, Hufflepuff, the house of loyalty and friendship, Ravenclaw, the house of wisdom and curiosity, and Slytherin, the house of cunning and ambition."

Behind him, Ron was muttering, "Is this the part where we have to wrestle a troll? Fred and George told me we have to wrestle a troll."

"When was the last time Fred and George told you anything resembling reliable information?" Sadie scoffed in return, and Hadrian stifled a giggle.

"When I call your name," McGonagall was continuing, "please come up to the stool and put the Sorting Hat on your head."

_The what?_ Hadrian wondered, peering around the first year in front of him to spot a raggedy brown wizarding hat. It looked about two heads away from falling apart completely, he thought.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty!"

Hadrian flinched backwards as the Sorting Hat suddenly opened its...mouth? For a second he thought the old thing had read his mind, but no, it was singing a song, apparently.

"But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me!"

Hadrian watched in amazement as the Hat launched into a detailed description of each of the houses with full rhyme and flair.

"So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands, though I have none,  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The Hall burst into applause as the Hat finished with a flourish, and even Tom was clapping from beside him, a bemused, considering expression on his face. And with that, the Sorting began, McGonagall calling them up in alphabetical order by their last name.

Susan was the first of their friend group to go as a result, and Hadrian sent her a reassuring smile as she walked forward, fidgeting with her hands slightly. Nervously, she sat down on the stool, Professor McGonagall lowering the Hat onto her head. It only stayed there a few seconds before calling out, " _Hufflepuff_!"

Hadrian joined in the applause as Susan sent them a relieved glance over her shoulder before eagerly running to the Hufflepuff table, a wide grin splitting her face.

A few others had their turns before Sadie was called. The girl stayed under the hat a little longer than Susan, but the Hat eventually declared her a Gryffindor, to the proud cheering of the red-and-gold adorned table. A Muggleborn girl ("Granger, Hermione") followed her with a look of intense concentration, and stayed underneath the Hat even longer until the Hat eventually declared her a Gryffindor as well.

Neville's name was called, and Hadrian pushed aside his climbing stress levels to pay attention to his friend's sorting. The boy was clutching the stool beneath him so tightly his knuckles were turning white, and though he kept his composure, a placid, calm expression on his face, he was clearly tense. Neville was taking an awfully long time, and just when Hadrian was starting to worry, the Hat opened its mouth and placed him in Hufflepuff.

The boy seemed to take in a breath, resettling himself, then calmly took the Hat off and stood. He spared a quick smile in Hadrian's direction before walking to the Hufflepuff table and taking a seat next to Susan — neither looked particularly put out by the announcement.

Hadrian listened idly to Draco's Sorting, but as he suspected, the Hat barely touched the blonde's head before screaming, " _Slytherin_!"

And then it was his turn.

"Potter, Hadrian," McGonagall called. Though her tone was the same, she gave him a reassuring smile as he hoisted himself up on the stool, keeping a confident expression on his face for the rest of the Hall to see. He might have his own reservations, but he'd be damned if anyone else saw it.

The brim of the oversized hat fell into his line of sight, fabric rustling solidly on top of his head.

" _Well, well, Hadrian Potter, you are quite the treat! The fire of Godric, the curiosity of Rowena, the faithfulness of Helga, and the soul of Salazar himself!_ "

Hadrian almost fell off the chair in surprise when the Hat's...voice sounded inside his head.

" _Now, down to business. You're quite different from your parents, you know_ ," the Hat chimed whimsically. Hadrian frowned. Different? Everyone thought he was a carbon copy of his parents, with Lily's elegance and James's fire.

" _Oh, you're a proper heir and all that_ ," that Hat said, tone clearly indicating that it cared nothing for the sort. " _But inside! Yes, that's what I look at. And you, Hadrian Potter, you are not the same as your parents. Quite far from it, in fact. And of course, that means your Sorting will be interesting!_ " The Hat sounded way too happy about this fact.

_Just put me in Gryffindor and get this over with_ , Hadrian thought mulishly. He didn't want to hear about how this Hat thought he was different — he belonged in Gryffindor, that's where he _had_ to go.

" _Gryffindor, you say? Hmm, you are suited for it,_ " and Hadrian was breathing a sigh of relief before the Hat continued. " _But I fear that Godric's house would only encourage your brashness. No, what you need is courage, young Hadrian_."

_If I need courage, the best place for me is Gryffindor!_ Hadrian objected, feeling his panic quickly rising. He had to go into Gryffindor, why was the Hat not letting him go to Gryffindor—

The Hat cackled.

" _Not that type of courage, foolish boy. You have that type of courage already, and you do hold it in high esteem, but no. What you need is the courage to find yourself._ "

_I have found myself_ , Hadrian shot back. _I know who I am_.

The Hat was laughing again.

" _Do you really, though? You see yourself as a perfect Gryffindor, and so do most that you acquaint yourself with. And I think Godric would've liked you, on the surface anyways. But a deeper look... I think Salazar would have seen your potential as well._ "

Hadrian's heart sunk.

_Not Slytherin. You can't put me in Slytherin, even if you think I'm not fit in Gryffindor put me somewhere else I_ can't _go to Slytherin_ , he begged, but the Hat was unflinching.

" _And that's exactly what I meant, young Hadrian! There is so much hidden inside you still, so much you have yet to uncover. And to properly face yourself, to conquer yourself — the best house for that, I think —_ "

_No. Absolutely not_ , Hadrian thought, face paling.

" _— is_ Slytherin!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, a quick note from the previous chapter -- it didn't actually make sense for tom to have been in diagon alley over the summer because his birthday is in the winter and he would've received his letter then. my excuse for this is that dumbledore wouldn't have wanted him to have his wand months before he got to hogwarts, since he had already caused a fair amount of trouble at the orphanage wandless. and thus, he ended up getting his wand late. i'm not sure i'll actually write this into the story though, because it feels like a weak justification for me to force something to happen, lol, but in case it was bothering you, there it is!
> 
> this chapter is a bit longer but also a bit of a filler so i can introduce some more characters. you'll definitely be getting to see hadrian's original gang around, even though he'll have to make some new friends now that he's, surprise surprise, been sorted into slytherin! i hope i left enough easter eggs to keep you guys entertained, and look forward to some more tom/harry interaction soon! - grim <3


	3. iii. home

The Hall is silent, but Hadrian doesn't think he could hear anything anyways past the roar of panic in his ears. The Hat is also silent, clearly having lost all interest in the boy as soon as it made its choice — _as soon as it signed my death warrant_ , Hadrian thinks bitterly.

There's a sharp crack of sound behind him, stuttering once, then twice, and it snaps Hadrian out of the blank haze of panic. He forces himself to his feet, and as he reaches up to take the Hat off, he realizes he's trembling. Regardless, he pushes through it, and vaguely thinks that he's calmer than he thought he would be — well, he's not in hysterics at least. Maybe the Hat was right, and something deep inside him knew this was where he belonged — _or I'm freaking out. Is this a dream? It has to be a dream_ , he thinks.

He offers the Hat to McGonagall, who had gone white, avoiding her eyes. He doesn't know what expression he's wearing right now — everything feels numb, muted. McGonagall gives him a shaky smile, but doesn't really _look_ at him as she takes the Hat back.

The snap he had heard behind him had apparently been clapping, Hadrian realizes, but he doubts that the applause is muted solely because of the roaring in his ears.

He turns discretely to the side, curious despite himself. Most of the staff is sitting stone still, expressions varying between shell-shocked to slight sneers. There's two notable exceptions.

A severe-looking man with black hair and black robes ( _he looks familiar_ , Hadrian notes, but he's not thinking clearly right now) is clapping firmly, and though he's frowning, he looks more worried than anything.

Two seats to his left sits Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Above his long, white beard, the Headmaster is also frowning, looking surprisingly serious for a man Hadrian had only ever seen with a lighthearted smile. He doesn't look worried, Hadrian realizes with dawning horror. He looks _suspicious_.

 _I didn't want this. I don't want this_.

The words climb in his throat and he shoves them down, forcing himself to continue walking to the far end of the Hall — far, far across where he thought he would be.

The applause had died quickly, and as he walks down the line of Slytherins, there's only silence. Most refuse to meet his gaze. The ones who do sneer at him, glaring him down.

But Hadrian's never been one to back off from a challenge, and his pride has him glaring right back, stiffening his posture and oh _Merlin_ he looks like Malfoy now, doesn't he.

Speaking of, the white-haired boy looks, well, not _unfriendly_ , which is already miles above anything the rest of the table has offered him.

Hadrian sits tenderly down across from Malfoy and Parkinson, who had been Sorted just before him and is glaring quite fiercely, but manages a shaky smile at them anyways. Malfoy's expression softens slightly and nods in response, and then turns to continue watching the Sorting.

McGonagall has pulled herself together, and her voice contains barely a tremor, continuing as if nothing had happened. The rest of the Sorting continues as a muted occurrence, though every other first year is greeted with far more enthusiasm than Hadrian. He can already hear the whispers spreading, those who aren't aware of just how monumental his sorting had been — a _Light wizard_ in _Slytherin_ — being educated.

A couple minutes later, "Riddle, Tom" is called, and is placed into Slytherin without any fanfare. The sense of displeasure at the table grows, and Hadrian draws himself out of his stupor to clap for Tom, feeling fiercely protective. Another Muggleborn had been sorted into the house earlier, before Hadrian, and the snakes are clearly displeased at having a Light wizard and two Muggleborns amongst their ranks this year.

Tom looks completely unfazed as he takes a seat beside Hadrian, however, a searching glance revealing nothing but the same placid mask that he had kept on through most of his acquaintance. It's a false calm, though, Hadrian thinks. Like a cipactli lurking beneath the surface of a murky lake, hidden but always ready to strike.

Tom affords Malfoy a nod, pointedly ignores Parkinson's glare, and turns to give Hadrian a small smile that he returns.

A little later, Ron gets sorted into Gryffindor, and the Sorting is over.

Wild whispers erupt further down the table, but the group of second years sitting across the gap in the table clearly has the legendary Slytherin subtlety, shooting mistrustful looks towards Hadrian before moving on to another subject altogether. They'd likely gossip in the safety of their rooms that night, Hadrian thinks bitterly. The thought of surviving the night made him feel sick, having to room with others that would probably hate him — he'd have to figure out some ways to ward himself and his possessions. He desperately wanted to talk to the others, especially Neville and Sadie — the former always managed to make him feel better, and the latter was always good at knocking some sense and good advice into him. But talking with his old friends and straying from his new house so quickly would be construed as weakness, and would splinter any chances he still had at surviving in Slytherin. _And would they even want to talk to him, anymore, now that he was a snake?_

No, the best course of action would be to prove his dominancy here, earn his house's respect so he wouldn't be bothered, and meet his friends in secret in the meanwhile.

Taking a small breath, he gathered himself and started plating his food, making sure to mind his manners as he did so. His home took meals as a casual occasion, but etiquette was taught to every heir and he minded that now.

Hadrian gave a small nod towards Malfoy and Parkinson to serve themselves first — in their little quartet, their families were older and therefore more esteemed than the Potter line (at least in present company's eyes — at the occasions _he_ normally attended, his family, despite being "young money," was highly regarded).

Malfoy's eyes flashed in surprise at the show of respect, and Parkinson squinted at him warily before quickly gathering food on her plate. He noted with surprise from the corner of his eye that Tom had followed his lead, clearly making his own deductions and waiting for Hadrian to serve himself next before following, though he also didn't miss the tension in his limbs as he did so — anger, but quickly concealed. If Hadrian hadn't been looking for it, he would've missed it.

He cut through a slice of the roast, humming happily at the tenderness of the meat. Even the happenings of the night couldn't dull the deliciousness of a Hogwarts feast — he was glad his parents were right about that.

"What subjects are you guys looking forward to?"

Malfoy, seemingly discomfited by the silence, finally broke it, going for the safest topic he could probably think of.

"I've always liked Magical Theory," Hadrian hummed. Normally, he would have also said Transfiguration — from what his parents said, McGonagall was an amazing professor, and he figured he'd do well enough at it given his strong theory. But McGonagall was the Gryffindor Head of House, and given his current audience... "I'm looking forward to Potions, though — my parents were pretty good at it, so hopefully I've inherited that," he laughed. That wasn't a lie — his parents were indeed quite proficient at Potions, though they had been equally, if not more, proficient at Charms and Transfiguration. But talking about Potions would, of course, lead to —

"Oh, I'm quite looking forward to Potions, too! Professor Snape is actually my godfather, he's amazing, really looks after us. He's the best Head of House," Draco enthused.

 _Bingo_ , Hadrian thinks.

"Yes," Parkinson cut in snidely. "He's the only one that treats Slytherins like _people_ instead of _aspiring Dark Lords_ ," she sneered, glaring at Hadrian.

He held her eyes calmly until she faltered slightly, confusion entering those dark hues when he failed to react.

"I'm glad to hear that, it'll be nice to have someone looking out for us," he responded, enunciating _us_ clearly — his message was clear: regardless of his core, he was standing with Slytherin.

Parkinson scowled in response, which was at least a step down from hostile remarks, so he'd take it.

Instead, he turned to Tom, who had been watching the conversation intently. Absent-mindedly, he noted that Tom hadn't grabbed much to eat, and already seemed to have finished. Did he not like the food? Were Muggle fares different? His mother had never mentioned it, except for a few wizarding specialties made with magic. A question for another time.

"What about you, Tom?"

The Muggleborn cocked his head. "Magical theory as well, I suppose. Charms seems interesting, too," he said.

Parkinson, who seemed to gain a second wind as soon as a Muggleborn had been invited into the conversation, sneered again. "Charms? It's a rather easy subject, isn't it? Well, perhaps someone of _your_ upbringing might find it challenging," she scoffed dismissively, smirking as she delivered the jab.

To his credit, Tom kept his cool, though Hadrian's searching eyes saw the flash of anger in his eyes, and the way his hand tightened on his fork. When he spoke again, his voice was deceptively calm, an undercurrent of warning beneath it, and he wore the smile of a predator playing with its prey.

"Hmm. Sometimes it is the seemingly unassuming areas that yield the greatest power. The Mind Arts, after all, are Charms, aren't they?"

Parkinson sucked in a breath.

"That — The Mind Arts are Dark, they've been outlawed," she said stiffly, but not in the way Hadrian's friends or parents would have said, with an accusing tone and suspicious glare — no, she sounded _intrigued_ , eyes glimmering with excitement as much as they were wary.

"Oh, are they really? You must forgive me, seeing as I don't know anything about magic, I sometimes find myself chasing down... _unconventional_ routes," Tom returned graciously, his dark smile becoming innocent, and Hadrian was suddenly struck by the knowledge that, just like him, Tom was an 11-year-old boy, in an environment where he was completely out of his depth and just trying to survive.

 _Brother wands_ , he remembered sharply.

Parkinson had adopted a rather shark-like smile of her own. "Well, if you find yourself in need of direction in these unconventional routes, I'd be glad to guide you," she said, and then immediately looked horrified at herself, voluntarily offering to spend her time with a Muggleborn. Then she caught sight of Hadrian again and blanched further as she remembered the Light wizard had been sitting _right there_.

"Quite kind of you Parkinson, even those of us more familiar with our world could use some, ah, guidance now and then," he drawled, even as something in him shifted (uncomfortably?) at the thought of even pretending to be interested in the Dark Arts. Even if he could certainly confess an interest in some of the darker spells that had been outlawed since Grindelwald's fall, he had certainly never been bold enough to even _hint_ at such desires, particularly when he was an Heir to one of the Lightest families around.

But here, in Slytherin, those thoughts wouldn't be suspicious, or even normal — no, they'd be encouraged, swapped under the table in a house swarming with Dark-aligned wizards. Hadrian had a feeling that he'd be hearing much more about the Dark Arts from the other side in the next seven years, and even if his first instinct was to draw away from it, he couldn't help that a larger part was drawn to it like a moth to flame. _For the first time he'd be able to flourish away from his parents' and tutors' watchful eyes_...and as scary as that thought was, Hadrian felt more excited than terrified for the first time that night.

Parkinson relaxed with his comment, and seemed even marginally _friendly_ for the remainder of the feast as the conversation became less tense. Well, hopefully that meant one less person he'd have to worry about being hexed in the back by, though he wasn't dull enough to relax his guard so quickly.

Eventually the main courses were cleared away and desserts took their place. Hadrian was comfortably full by that point, though he noticed the older years had apparently anticipated this and restrained themselves during the feast in order to gorge themselves on sweets — cakes and pies of every flavor and confection, iced treats magically preserved to not melt, hearty drinks of hot cocoa. Hadrian wasn't a huge fan of most desserts, but he couldn't resist plating himself a slice of treacle tart. Malfoy and Parkinson followed his lead, but Tom remained still, pose casual even as he eyed the desserts with slight disdain.

Hadrian wondered again — Tom hadn't eaten much throughout the remainder of their conversation, though he had made the motions of adding some food to his plate and slowly consuming it. The two across the table hadn't noticed, but Hadrian, sitting next to him and all too acutely aware of his actions, certainly had. It wasn't a subject to broach here in public, though — perhaps he'd ask later tonight, if they managed to get some time together.

Malfoy certainly noticed Tom's lack of dessert, however.

"Not a fan of magical sweets, are you?" he laughed. "What are Muggle sweets like anyways?"

Parkinson curled her lip at the topic, but Hadrian caught the slight gleam of curiosity in her eyes regardless.

"Not a fan of most sweets, to be honest," Tom said. "Muggle sweets...I suppose they're good to those who've acquired the taste. To me, they taste horribly artificial. Too much manufactured sweetness," he sniffed.

(Privately, Hadrian thought that Tom pulled off pureblood haughtiness quite well.)

"But what are they _like_ ," Malfoy pressed. "Do they still have red velvet cake? They have to have red velvet cake, right, they can't be _that_ barbaric."

Hadrian stifled a giggle, and even Parkinson's lip curled up into a smirk, at Malfoy's distraught tone, but Tom was saved from the line of questioning as another boy slid over next to Hadrian.

"Who's barbaric?" he asked, grabbing a slice of Every-Berry Pie for himself before nodding towards the group in greeting. "Draco, Pansy..."

"Anyone who doesn't eat red velvet cake, apparently," Parkinson scoffed in response, though she gave the other boy a fond smile. He laughed in response.

"I'm Zabini," he introduced, finally turning to Hadrian and Tom. "Blaise," he added, almost as an afterthought. He eyed Hadrian with curiosity, though not outright hostility, which Hadrian took as a good sign.

"Potter. Hadrian," he introduced himself in turn, though Zabini clearly knew he was. He didn't know the other as well — the Zabini's were a relatively new family to Britain. They had fled their original homes in Italy following the unrest caused by Grindelwald, he was pretty sure, though it was strange that a Dark family had had to flee, unless perhaps they had upset Grindelwald somehow... _or they weren't always Dark_ , he mused. It was uncommon for a family to switch cores, even rarer for a switch to persist instead of a one-off generation, but it wasn't impossible. His interest was piqued.

Tom echoed the introduction, and Zabini remained cordial to him as well, affording him a slight nod as he slid into the seat and began eating his pie.

"Finally get tired of trying to make Theo talk?" Malfoy asked with a mischievous grin.

Zabini smirked in response. "More like he got tired of me trying to make him talk," he laughed. Hadrian followed the pair's eyes to where another first-year boy ( _Nott, Theodore_ , his mind supplied) was sitting alone, a book propped in front of him in the spot Zabini had probably occupied before while he absent-mindedly ate a slice of cake. As if feeling their eyes on him, the wiry boy's eyes lifted from the book in exasperation, flipping them off and setting Malfoy and Zabini into a fit of laughter before returning to his reading.

 _Not very social, then_ , Hadrian thought, amused. He could relate — if it weren't so important for him to make a strong first impression in the house so he could survive, he could imagine himself doing the same, secluding himself from his housemates with a book.

Zabini inserted himself into the group smoothly, and Hadrian was relieved that their conversation remained casual, if not friendly.

Soon enough, the desserts were cleared from the tables as well, and the Headmaster called for the prefects to lead the first-years back to their dorms. Hadrian, who had somewhat relaxed in the last half hour, winced at the sneer sent his way by the female prefect, before taking a deep breath and bolstering himself up to follow after her.

He fell back in step to walk beside Tom, who had received a similar look of disgust from the prefect. Malfoy, Zabini, and Parkinson were laughing about some party their parents had attended over the summer, and while he might normally be affronted at being cut out of a conversation, he took it as a chance to talk to Tom one-on-one before they got back to the dorms.

"Are you feeling alright? You didn't eat that much," he said in a hushed tone, figuring the other probably wouldn't want attention drawn to it. He was proven right when Tom immediately stiffened, looking more cold than he had been since they had first met.

"Yes," was the simple response, Tom's voice snipped and cold and borderline rude in a way that it hadn't been even when Parkinson called him a Mudblood.

Hadrian frowned, trying his best to stifle the juvenile sense of hurt at the words, the temptation to lash out and treat Tom like he was _nothing_ just as his curt answer made him feel. And an even darker impulse tugged at him, telling him to _push more_ until Tom _broke_.

He shoved the feeling away.

They both stewed in silence for the majority of the walk back, until he finally caved and switched the topic, trying to ease the mood.

"What do you think the dorms are like?"

"I have no clue. Shouldn't you know? Didn't your parents go to Hogwarts?" Tom responded after a pause. Well, he didn't sound friendly, but Tom never really got to that point — calm and open was probably the best he could hope for.

Hadrian winced at the reminder of his parents, he was going to have to tell them about the Sorting, _Merlin_ , he wasn't looking forward to that.

Tom frowned slightly, an expression that was almost guilt crossing his face, but Hadrian shook his head, pushing past it.

"I know what the _Gryffindor_ dorms look like. As far as they're concerned, Slytherins sleep in cells in the dungeons," he scoffed.

"They're right about the dungeon part."

Hadrian snapped his head to the side, where Malfoy had slid himself into their conversation, a glint of pride in his eyes at having more information than the others. Tom simply raised a cool eyebrow, silently asking for him to share without really _asking_.

Malfoy huffed.

"Slytherin has the best dorms, of course," he bragged. "First year you have to share the space, but even then our room is bigger than the other houses. And by third year we'll all either be in rooms of one or two. And everything is, of course, of the highest quality. You won't catch us having _vermin_ like the Gryffindors — er. Sorry."

Hadrian shoved down the instinctive defense in favor of a forced, lazy shrug. "Not my house, don't apologize," he said, as if he couldn't care less. Malfoy nodded and accepted his words easily before launching into an explanation of how the sheets were silk and a gift from his grandfather, personally charmed and whatnot. Tom's eyes stayed on him, though, searching, the corners of his mouth tilting down ever so slightly.

Before long, they arrived at the dungeons, descending down a set of stairs. Hadrian shivered slightly, the air becoming more frigid with every step. He'd have to become proficient at heating charms rather quickly, he thought. They passed a couple rooms before stopping at a wall with a portrait of Slytherin. The man, unlike the chattier portraits they had passed above, stared haughtily down at the first-years, the snake wrapped around his neck hissing (quite on-brand, Hadrian thought).

Beside him, Tom stiffened, and Hadrian gave him a concerned glance. The other boy simply shook his head, however, and when the prefect started speaking again, Hadrian had to drop it.

"This is the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon, which contains the common room, several study rooms, and the dormitories," she said. "It is, of course, password protected. It is your responsibility to memorize the password, which will be posted at the beginning of every week. If you forget, you'll stay out here until one of your housemates decides to take pity on you, or Lord Slytherin here decides to let you in."

The sneer on her face clearly spoke to how unlikely either event was.

"It should go without saying that the password should _not_ be shared with members of other Houses in any situation," she continued, eyes finding Hadrian in the crowd.

He stiffened in offense, meeting her gaze head-on. He might be a Light wizard, but he certainly wasn't dumb enough to turn his house against him like that.

Eventually she turned with another disdainful sniff. "Now — _cygnus_ ," she uttered clearly. Lord Slytherin gave her a bored stare before waving a hand. The sections of stone rippled apart next to him, and then they were stepping into the Slytherin common room.

Malfoy certainly hadn't been overstating its grandeur, Hadrian quickly realized, and even the blonde Heir looked awestruck. The stone walls were simple but overwhelming in their presence, arcing dozens of feet above them. Floor to ceiling windows that glowed an eerie blue — _that was the Lake_ , Hadrian realized — and elegant carvings in the walls impressed an aura of aloofness and nobility that Hadrian knew the Slytherin of old had been associated with. The room was dimly lit, and despite the grandeur, it felt almost _homey_. The chandeliers pulsed with dim candlelight, the fireplace crackling with warmth that drove the perpetual chill of the dungeons away.

This, Hadrian realized, was a place he'd be happy to call home, a place with a seemingly cold design but layers of warmth and loyalty and belonging.

"Welcome to Slytherin."

He jolted badly, as did Tom, when a silky-smooth voice spoke at the other end of the room. The dark-haired, black-clad professor that had first clapped for him after his Sorting stepped into view, though Hadrian couldn't see any openings from where he had appeared.

"I am Severus Snape, your Head of House. While you are in Slytherin, you are under my purview. I hope that you will take actions that will bring honor to your house — your family."

Each word flowed silkily from the man, his voice barely a whisper but easily commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

"I will keep it short, as it has been a long day for all of you. Tomorrow morning will be your first day of classes. Please be in the Great Hall for breakfast by 8:45 a.m. so I can hand out timetables, though normally you are welcome to sleep through it — I do not suggest it, however. Classes begin promptly at 9 a.m. You can find the schedule of meals and classes on the board by the entrance, as well as the times I am available in my office for walk-in student visits."

The ten first-years swiveled synchronously towards where the man gestured at a large board. A few papers were already stuck to it, and Hadrian could make out the schedule Professor Snape was talking about, along with the posting for the week's password.

"The large stairs at the end of this room lead to two wings — the girls' wing is on the right, and the boys' wing is on the left, with your rooms closest to the stairs and the older years further down the hall. Your room will be labeled with your name, and your belongings have already been brought up. You have two hours before lights out," he continued and nodded sharply, dismissing them.

Hadrian turned to follow Tom and Malfoy up the stairs, excited to see what his room would be like, when Snape spoke again.

"Mister Potter. With me, please, this won't take more than a few minutes."

Hadrian froze, mind running through potential reasons why the man had already singled him out. His Sorting jumped to his mind first, but he had clapped for him, seemed to even understand his situation. Unless it was all a front?

Swallowing harshly, he nodded and meekly followed after him. They arrived at an empty section of the wall, but the professor simply placed a hand on the stone and murmured a soft word. Like the entrance to the common room, the stones rippled apart and allowed them into a cozy office — Snape's office, he quickly realized.

"Feel free to take a seat. You aren't in trouble, I just wanted to speak with you."

Snape moved around to another table, and Hadrian hesitantly moved into the chair in front of the desk, looking around in wonderment at the shelves lined with books. A minute later, Snape came back to sit behind the desk, facing him. He placed a teacup down and handed Hadrian a mug with steaming hot chocolate.

"I typically offer tea, but I won't give you any this close to bedtime," he explained.

Hadrian nodded awkwardly, and not knowing what else to do with his hands, took a sip.

"Out of curiosity, do you know who I am?" Snape asked, pressing his fingers together and fixing Hadrian with a piercing stare. His tea sat beside him, untouched.

Hadrian shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if he was being tested. "Um... My Head of House? Sir?" he asked.

Snape's lips pressed together in distaste, but quickly sighed.

"Yes. Well. I was once friends with your mother, a long time ago, when we were both still in Hogwarts," he said, a misty look in his eyes.

 _Was?_ So not anymore? That would make sense, seeing as Hadrian was pretty sure he had never seen this man in his life. He wanted to ask for details, but Snape pressed on.

"We are, as you probably deduced, no longer close. I simple wondered... Anyways, I called you here to talk about your Sorting."

Hadrian swallowed nervously. So he had been right. If this man knew his mother, did that make it better or worse?

"A...not commonly known fact about me, Mister Potter, is that my core is actually Light."

He gaped. That — that had not been what he was expecting. A _Light_ wizard, the Head of House of Slytherin? He could see why Snape kept it hidden — the man was held in high esteem by his House and treated them well, but he could only imagine the seeds of doubt the revelation of the man's core would sow.

"You understand, of course, why I would keep such knowledge...out of public eye?" Snape continued, his gaze deep and dark as he met Hadrian's eyes.

The boy nodded earnestly. "Yes — of course," he replied, and then answering that Snape was _really_ asking — "I won't breathe a word of it."

The professor nodded, satisfied. "That being said, I understand...quite well, how you feel right now," he said. Hadrian didn't doubt it. The man was what, around his mother's age? He would have been born right after the war, when the division between Dark and Light wizards was even stronger than now. Snape didn't just understand Hadrian's situation, he had likely survived worse. Hadrian felt his respect for the man rise greatly.

"It is my duty as your Head of House to keep you safe, and I want you to know that the type of magic you are aligned with will not influence my opinion of you. I will treat you fairly in my classes, and will encourage your housemates to behave in a...becoming manner," he said, then paused. "Of course, the animosity runs deep, and you will no doubt encounter great difficulties in your next years. You will hurt, and you will grow. You will have a great many enemies, but you will also make great friends — I noticed you were speaking with Draco. He's a good kid, and far less prone to bigotry than his father."

Snape hesitated again, his eyes taking on a somber, but intense look. "As for your family —"

Immediately, Hadrian stiffened, and the man's gaze turned sad, _knowing_.

"If they give you trouble over your Sorting, please come speak with me at once."

Hadrian appreciated it the statement, simple as it was. It was what he needed right now — no reassurances that everything would be alright, no platitudes that his parents would love him as he was. Just simple, confirming reassurance that _he_ was here regardless of what happened, without making promises he couldn't keep, reassurances he couldn't justify.

"Thank you Professor. I — really appreciate it," Hadrian said, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

Snape averted his eyes, as if he were the one embarrassed instead. "Of course. Stay, finish your hot chocolate, and then go get some rest. You can write your parents in the morning, if Minerva hasn't already told them. It's been a long day."

Hadrian sniffed and nodded, and then buried his face in the mug. For the first time since that damning house had come from the Sorting Hat's mouth, he let his façade crack — but he knew it would be alright, because Snape would look away, and then help him pick up the pieces.

— // —

Hadrian emerged from Professor Snape's office alone ten minutes later. The common room was empty — he had missed the older years coming in, thankfully, and everyone was probably upstairs unpacking. Before he could make it to the stairs, though, a chill ran down his back and he spun around instinctively to see a translucent man leaning against the wall.

The man is slim but well-muscled, clearly in the peak of his physical ability. It's rare that a ghost dies this young, or this... _whole_. Truly, he looks as if he's in the pinnacle of health, not a being of death, except for the deep, colorless pits of his eyes — there is nothing there but pain, bordering on insanity.

"He thinks you're like him," the ghost says, smiling as if he knows a secret — he likely did.

Hadrian frowned, curiosity piqued despite himself. "Who? Snape? Aren't I, though?"

The ghost laughs.

"Oh, in some aspects, of course. You two are both...quite _fascinating_. Enigmas, truly. There's more to Snape than you possibly know, young wizard, and there's far more to _you_ than you can even begin to suspect."

The insanity in his eyes was telling, Hadrian thinks. He should've walked away the second he saw it.

The ghost laughs, as if reading his thoughts. "Oh, darling, you'll come to understand eventually — though, not too soon, please. I only get so much amusement around here, and it'd be a shame if my beautiful new puzzle got spoiled so easily."

 _Yup, certified insane_ , Hadrian thinks, but against his better instincts, he's asking, "Who _are_ you?"

The ghost cackles. "You can call me... _Vir_ ," he says, and then cackles even louder, as if he had just told a wonderful little joke.

Hadrian just stares.

"Alright. I'm going to — go to sleep, and maybe when I wake up I'll stop hallucinating," he mutters, more to himself than anyone, and turns and goes to the stairs, Vir's laughs echoing behind him.

He finds his room easily — shared with Tom, Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott, so essentially all the first-year boys. But when he walks in, he quickly realizes that Malfoy had been right about the quality of their room. It's spacious — there's no chance that they'd impede on each other's space, though Malfoy's overflow of possessions comes close, Hadrian notes as he peeks the blonde head across the room.

The room is roughly circular, and Tom has one of the beds closest to the door. Malfoy is the furthest in, and Hadrian has the...pleasure of occupying the space between them.

Tom looks up from where he's sitting with a large book on his lap, practically a mirror image of Theodore Nott just an hour ago.

"Hadrian. Welcome back — what did Professor Snape need you for?" he inquires with a soft smile, closing the book.

Hadrian shrugs. "He just wanted to talk about my Sorting," he responds, keeping it vague. Out of anyone in this room, Tom is the least likely to care about the man being Light, but the others are clearly listening in raptly — and even if they weren't, well, Hadrian has no intentions of betraying the man's trust to anyone.

"Doesn't everyone?" Zabini calls from the other side of the room. "Congratulations, Potter, you're a celebrity," he laughs.

Hadrian winces. "I could do without that particular fame," he snorts, surprised that Zabini is — _bantering_ with him.

"Well, you're much better off here than _Gryffindor_ regardless of if you're Light or not. We're the superior house for a reason," Draco says, popping his head out from the mess of his unpacking, looking surprisingly haughty and serious for someone currently holding a silk undershirt.

Zabini sniggers. "Yes, the noble Slytherin, drowning in our overpacked trunks," he drawls. "You are truly an exemplary example for our esteemed house, Heir Malfoy."

Malfoy splutters, fair skin turning red as he squeals his retort.

Hadrian laughs as he starts getting settled in for the night, letting Tom's relaxing presence and the friendly bantering of Malfoy and Zabini settle over him like a second skin.

Perhaps this can be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo. any thoughts about our mysterious vir? snape's revelation? i'm giving hadrian some allies before the Big Bad Slytherins come hunting for him for tainting their ~ perfectly dark house ~ 
> 
> another side note! defense against the dark arts is not a class for first years -- instead, they learn magical theory, which is taught by the dada professor, because tom riddle never cursed the position so hogwarts will have an actually good dada professor in this universe tyvm. anyways, magical theory is partially for me to define the rules of this universe more clearly for you guys, as well as just logical, because theory is important before attempting anything practical! next chapter you'll get to meet the dada prof ;D - grim <3


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